


you are that warmth inside my chest

by heungminie (kumajoonie)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Gay Son Heung-Min, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Queer Themes, Sexual Tension, Time Skips, me? projecting my queer asian experience onto Son Heungmin? and what about it, the inherent homoerotic tension of the 2018/19 season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28654515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kumajoonie/pseuds/heungminie
Summary: Heungmin exhales, and it’s like he wouldn’t care if Harry stole all the air he could ever breathe.Harry exhales, and it feels like he’s returning all of the air he borrowed from Heungmin.A timeline of them: told by temperatures, sensations, elements, and emotions.
Relationships: Harry Kane/Son Heung-Min, implied previous Son Heung-Min/Park Seo Joon
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	you are that warmth inside my chest

**Author's Note:**

> This is a lot about the Queer ExperienceTM so if that’s not your thing… please still read it, I spent a lot of time on it ㅜㅜ
> 
> Enjoy! I hope.
> 
> Dedicated to Matthew (whose fic inspired me and who has been providing me with endless instant gratification) and Allana (whose fic is just breathtaking)

Oblivious to the slow pace of ambiguity, Heungmin often doesn’t notice things changing before it’s too late.

When he first meets Harry Kane, Heungmin thinks he’s difficult to understand. His words are stuffed into an accent much too thick to decipher, so Heungmin gives him smiles instead of responses. It takes about a month for him to realize that the usual routine of asking, “ _Sorry, can you repeat that_?” paired with his infamous puppy eyes isn’t doing Kane’s blood pressure a favor. To make up for it, Heungmin starts leaning in whenever he doesn’t understand what Kane is saying to him. He still doesn’t get a word of it, but he does learn something: 

The closer he gets to Harry, the more hesitant he is to pull away. 

Heungmin doesn’t fully grapple with this until seasons pass, and years fly by, and the dam he’s so precariously built has flooded beyond repair. A life that feels so distant from _his_ slowly bubbles to the surface, and he knows this time it won’t disappear on its own.

Heungmin is unsuspecting on the day it happens. 

It’s an English winter, and he has long ago decided that he’s not suited for them. The Spurs’ long-sleeved training kit is barely regulating his body heat, and the sight of frost sparking up under his boots gives Heungmin a violent set of shivers. Much worse is the fact that, while jogging back to the end of the queue for a shooting drill, he slips and falls onto his ass in broad daylight. Lucas holds in a snicker, but pulls him up onto his feet out of the sheer kindness of his heart. In that moment, Heungmin is embarrassingly grateful that his face was already flushed red from the cold.

He’s still trembling when he walks out to the car park after practice, with Harry lagging behind him in amused silence. Heungmin whines a little, at both his stupid inability to withstand the cold and the stupid puffer coat that refuses to warm him up.

Harry scratches at the scruff of his beard in thought, then immediately pauses in his step. “Sonny,” he calls out to him. 

Heungmin pivots on his heel in answer. He’s reddening across the swell of his cheeks and right on the tip of his nose. His teeth are even chattering and still, he smiles. 

Harry laughs at that without thinking. He kicks up a bit of dust on the ground, then waves Heungmin over. “Come here.”

Without question, Heungmin waddles toward him - near enough that he can catch sight of the white puffs when Harry exhales. Part of him wants to warn Harry to keep his air to himself, but another part enjoys the warmth that the pretty clouds carry. 

“You’re cold,” Harry deduces, and Heungmin has no clue how he’s meant to respond to that. He nods back.

Disobeying Heungmin’s silent instruction to do otherwise, Harry suddenly blows out another puff of that warm air - this time, right into his hands, which he then rubs together furiously. Heungmin just stands there, bewildered, as it happens.

After an enduring moment of palm-rubbing, Harry reaches up to grab him. His hands cup Heungmin’s face, callused fingers bringing immediate heat to his skin. Harry might as well have his hands wrapped around his throat because Heungmin feels like he’s being choked. 

He isn’t quite sure what’s happening. He can so _viscerally_ feel the burn of Harry’s thumbs resting against his cheeks. Every graze of Harry’s fingers against his jaw feels like the scraping of talons. He starts shaking more, and he can only hope that Harry chalks it up to the temperature.

When Harry finally moves his hands, from Heungmin’s face to around his shoulders, the air on his cheeks feels even colder. Breathing it is like trying to swallow ice whole. Heungmin is, quite literally, frozen. No matter how much his brain tells him _to blink, to scream, to run away_ , he doesn’t. He stays put, eyes trained on Harry’s. His body is surprisingly good at it.

They only break apart when Dele comes thundering down the pavement, lightheartedly accusing Harry of attempting to strangle their favorite Korean player in broad daylight. He stumbles between them, slinging his arms around both their necks like he hasn’t noticed the devastating tension hanging in the air with their breath. Heungmin tries not to wonder how much Dele saw.

He doesn’t end up placing the source of his déjà vu until he’s on the drive home, when his mind shifts into autopilot and clears enough for a memory to appear.

It must have been in the early months of 2007, after his first match for Yukmingwan Middle School FC back in Wonju. Heungmin had played right winger and won it for the team with a goal at the 85-minute mark. 

He was sitting over on the curb when their team captain - a midfielder by the name of Ji Chanyoung, who wore their team’s #10 shirt - approached him after the game.

Chanyoung crouched down to his feet so that he was eye-level with Heungmin, and then he said, “Good work, _Aegi_.” 

Meaning: baby.

He called Heungmin _baby_ , but it wasn’t endearing or sweet. His jeer meant that he thought Heungmin to be a literal _child_.

Chanyoung reached out a hand, dirtied with dust from the field, and grabbed Heungmin’s chin. His skin was soft, still unmarred by the calluses of age, but Heungmin could feel the sear of his fingers pressing into his flesh.

“ _Aegi_ ,” Chanyoung sang again, underlined by a curious look nestled behind his eyes.

Heungmin didn’t stop him, not even when his teammates gathered around them and joined in. He sunk into the ground as he watched himself transform in their eyes. Their pure awe of him in the moments after his winning strike had morphed into something coddling, almost demeaning. He couldn’t understand it. 

In a desperate search for answers, one of his father’s teachings suddenly rang between Heungmin’s ears; “ _It’s better to be feared than respected._ ” This certainly didn’t feel like an act of respect, so maybe it was because they were scared of him. He tried not to think too hard about why that might be.

Despite his efforts, Heungmin spent far too many nights in the weeks after replaying that one moment. His bedroom ceiling, which on any other occasion screened his visions of future matches, became the theatre for a never-ending marathon of this memory. 

On one of those nights, he found himself in a dream with Chanyoung. His hands were on Heungmin’s neck again, but this time he closed the distance between them for another reason entirely.

After he graduated from Yukmingwan, Heungmin moved to Dongbuk, and then onto Europe: Hamburg, then Leverkusen, and finally London. Life kept charging on, and with each rising promotion in the professional leagues, he had no time, energy, or will to ponder painful questions with nonexistent answers.

At least, he hadn’t, until he met Harry.

The first thing Heungmin does after arriving home and parking the car is jump in the shower. He starts with a hot one to warm up, then spontaneously switches the knob to cold once his thoughts derail. He closes his eyes and focuses; first, on the image of a football skidding on light powder. He makes a mental note to start wearing another layer under his kit in the winter. Inevitably, his mind drifts to the special kind of heat generated by one English captain.

When he tucks under his covers and finally succumbs to sleep, Heungmin finds himself in an old dream with a new pair of hands around his neck. 

✧

Heungmin _isn’t_ impatient. 

It’s certainly a stereotype of the modern Korean, but unlike the hurried _ppalli-ppalli_ culture of his country, he’s never had problems with waiting out the long game. Matches on the pitch are fast-paced enough, but the slow, grueling climb to Heungmin’s success was fueled by endurance, not haste. It’s out of character for him to be wracked with such need for _urgency_. He feels like he’s trapped in his own skin, in a body that won’t move or speak or feel as fast as he wishes it would.

It’s at its worst when Heungmin is pressed up against someone, absorbing their heat and inhaling their breath all at once. When _Harry_ is hugging him, it feels like his body and spirit are finally aligned. His hands steady Heungmin at the waist, every finger gripping him with certainty. Harry kisses praise into that spot on his neck, and his heartbeat increases tenfold. Whether it be on the training grounds, in the stadium after a screamer, or in the back of the bus when Heungmin’s insomnia denies the night’s darkness - Harry holds him without question. 

He openly provides the kind of affection that Heungmin has long hid in the shadows of himself, just like the dwindling flame he left abandoned beneath the treetops of a neighborhood in Wonju. 

Every embrace with his teammates is as close to love as Heungmin knows he can have, but it always dares him to want _more._

He tucks his head into Harry’s shoulders, breathes the air that he knows is forbidden, and for once lets himself find comfort in the warmth of another man. Heungmin screws his eyes shut and everything beyond that moment of intimacy falls away. He doesn’t see anyone else, not their expressions of disgust or suspicion, and not their disappointment once they’ve caught on to the bulge of his heart in his throat. For just a moment, Heungmin’s body is _his own_ , and it almost doesn’t matter if it gives him away. 

✧ 

After years of knowing Harry Kane, Heungmin still thinks he’s difficult to understand. 

He loves driving to Heathrow together because the car is where their communication feels crispest. Harry gets zoned into tactics chat for the upcoming match, and Heungmin can actually focus on _football_ with his head on the window, watching the scene of the city flying by. The only downside to the car is that it’s one of very few places where Heungmin has to fight off sleep. 

“How is it over there, Sonny?” Harry asks, steering with one hand while the other moves to pinch at the nape of Heungmin’s neck. It slips upwards and tangles into his bed-messy mop of black hair.

“S’okay,” he grumbles in reply, turning over a little to nuzzle his cheek against the door. He closes his eyes, just to rest his eyelids. Lethargy is so rare to Heungmin. Selfishly, he wants to hoard it.

Harry chuckles, then gingerly retracts his arm. “We’re fussy today.”

“I’m not _fussy_ ,” Heungmin huffs back. He cracks an eye open and peeks up at the glass of the window. Harry looks so _right_ in the driver’s seat. He somehow fits in with all the sports cars and the smoke and mirrors of luxury. Heungmin is perfectly self-aware of his own skill as a footballer, but the wealth of his profession sometimes feels undeserved. All the designer sweaters in the world still wouldn’t keep him warm. 

“Yeah?” he hears as Harry’s reflection glances over at him. “What’s this, then?”

Heungmin shrugs, then rolls his head over to give Harry a blank expression. “I don’t know,” he deadpans. 

Harry slings an arm around Heungmin’s seat back and raises his eyebrow, daring him to push any further. Heungmin suddenly can’t forget the stupid saying his gossipy classmates parroted in high school: “A man is most attractive when he drives.” 

_Bullshit_ , Heungmin thinks, turning his gaze back to the window and hoping the street light isn’t strong enough to reflect his blush.

“Whatever,” Harry dismisses, completely robbing Sonny of his attention once he turns his eyes back onto the road. “But lose the pissy attitude once we’re in Eindhoven, will you?”

Heungmin squeaks in protest, his hand shooting out to do who knows what - he _thinks_ he means to hit Harry, so that he can startle that look of condescension off his face. What Heungmin ends up doing is grabbing at his thigh. 

Harry’s eyes widen with realization, and whatever Top 40 electro-pop is playing on the radio fades into dull static. He glances down at his lap and returns his free hand back to the steering wheel. Harry couldn’t hide his smirk if he tried, and Heungmin knows he definitely isn’t. “Is _that_ all, Sonny?” he asks.

It feels like Harry knows something he doesn’t. Heungmin momentarily forgets how to say, “For the love of God, what the fuck are you talking about?” in English so he just scoffs in reply. He wishes Harry understood German, then he’d have no shortage of phrases to bark his way right now.

Harry says, “You can always tell me what’s wrong,” which feels like a slap in the face, and then lays his hand over Heungmin’s.

His chest clenches at that. Heungmin feels so, _so_ warm, and he knows he has to pull away before it shows. Instead, he squirms under Harry, fidgeting until their fingers thread together. Harry’s thumb smooths over the back of his hand, massaging into the side of Heungmin’s wrist that always aches.

Harry laughs when Heungmin squeezes him even tighter. “That all you wanted?” he teases.

He doesn’t say a thing back. Heungmin is awful at lying when it comes to him.

✧

Sometimes, he wonders if it’s possible that Harry _isn’t_ just a blank sheet for his projection, if maybe Harry does these things to him because he actually wants to, and not simply because Heungmin is a neon sign screaming out _, “I will do anything for your attention.”_

Heungmin can’t help how his mind wanders when he’s not on the pitch. Especially not on nights like this one. They’re into the tunnel at Dortmund, where the winter air is crisp, and Heungmin is glowing with exhilaration. The chanting of the crowd is still booming around them, drowning Westfalenstadion in an ocean of cheers for their side. His cheeks are puffing up, his teeth are starting to freeze, and it’s only the first leg of the Round of 16 - far from topping the Champions League, but Heungmin just can’t stop grinning. He swims downstream through the sea of white Tottenham kits to find Jan and throws himself into the Belgian defender’s arms.

Jan chuckles. It really ends up coming out like a wheeze because of how hard Heungmin slams against his chest. He imagines himself as a koala’s favorite eucalyptus tree, with the way Heungmin is hanging off of him. 

Heungmin mutters, “Thank you,” against his shoulder, and Jan laughs because it was just a good chance he had to take. A necessary preface to _Heungmin’s_ beautiful goal. He doesn’t understand that Heungmin means, “ _Thank you for letting me be who I am out there, even though I am who I am inside._ ” 

Still, he won’t pass up recognition for an assist, and the Korean forward isn’t loosening his grip, so Jan just pets at his head until he calms down.

Once the embrace has overstayed its welcome, he gently pries Heungmin off of him, pointing out how the rest of the squad has already made it to the changing room. It’s the first time that night that Heungmin pouts, dissatisfied by the absence of someone wrapped around him. As he starts to follow the Belgian player deeper into the tunnel, a hand he knows much too well encircles Heungmin’s wrist. 

It’s Harry lightly tugging him backwards, so that Heungmin can fall into step at his side. He throws an arm over Heungmin’s shoulders, pulling him flush into his chest, and _that’s_ when Heungmin finally finds the warmth he’s been craving all night. 

When Harry leans closer, Heungmin can feel the faintest scratch of his beard against his cheek. “You’ve done good,” Harry murmurs against the shell of his ear. Then he disappears, untangling himself from Heungmin and leaving only his palm on his head. Harry’s fingers rake through his hair, dragging down from his scalp to the base of his neck. It burns with possession, and it makes Heungmin shiver.

✧

Although Heungmin always misses the little things, he’s shockingly consistent at seeing it all after it no longer matters.

He had been completely oblivious to whatever happened between him and Chanyoung from Yukmingwan. It seemed like nothing at all until they were sitting thigh-to-thigh at a barbecue place for their end-of-season celebration. Chanyoung had reached over Heungmin for the plate of gamja jorim and paused, for just a second, to whisper, “You did good, _jagiya_ ,” into his ear.

_Jagiya._ Meaning: honey, darling, _baby_. 

And he meant it like _that_ this time.

Heungmin had been there when it all happened. He had witnessed every increasingly trusting pass, every quiet invitation to practice together, and every celebratory hug that lingered a little longer than the last, and yet, he still hadn’t _recognized_ any of it until it was too late.

They met a few times after the season concluded, usually kicking the ball around a neighborhood park in Wonju. Heungmin often insisted that Chanyoung was better than some of his teammates on the national team’s Under-15 squad. Chanyoung said that his mother would be heartbroken if he became anything other than an executive in Seoul. 

One morning in February of the next year, they were playing keepaway with a ball from Heungmin’s stockpile. After a successful defense, Chanyoung chipped it over the wall and deep into the trees across the street. It was odd because he was never one to lob like that, especially when he was playing 1v1 with Heungmin. 

They decided to look for the ball together. Stray branches crunched underneath their boots as they crept deeper into the trees. After searching for a few minutes, Heungmin found it in an area hidden by shade. He reached down to scoop it up off the ground, and when he turned around, ball in hand, Chanyoung _kissed_ him. The ball dropped from his hands, and he found himself reaching up for the back of Chanyoung’s neck.

Not a month after this, they graduated. 

The stakes were lower then. Heungmin was fourteen and playing in the reserves. Why is it _now,_ when he’s the national team captain with _years_ spent building his career at risk, that he wants to keep something he knows is fleeting? And despite the infinite reasons against it, he can’t deny that he does. It’s an act of stupidity he desires so badly that it aches.

✧

That night in Dortmund, many Februaries later, introduces him to a familiar kind of uncertainty.

Harry is standing in his hotel room, and his purpose is unclear. Despite his inaction, he looks winded and indecisive when he steps forward. 

Heungmin feels a surge of impatience, so he asks him, “What did you want?” He’s leaning against the edge of his bed, waiting for _anything at all_ to happen. Time spent with Harry is never time wasted, but it might as well be when he’s standing stock-still and that far away. Heungmin sighs, then lies back over the mattress. He tries not to overthink the implications of that.

However Harry reads it, it seems to reassure him. He closes in, until the toe of his shoe is sliding between Heungmin’s feet on the carpet, and for the first time in nearly four years, Heungmin understands what’s happening.

Harry’s hands come around his shoulders and he feels like he’s being strangled again. He pushes himself up the bed, until his black hair is messily fanning out over the pillows, and lays there, chest rising and falling, painfully aware of the distance he’s put between them. When he meets Harry’s eyes again, Heungmin silently begs him to close it. Harry crawls up onto the bed, mattress dipping beneath each press of his knees, and steadies his palms against the insides of Heungmin’s thighs. They spread apart easily when Harry flexes the heels of his hands.

Heungmin’s legs tremble. He _hurts_.

He tries his hardest to remain somewhat composed while Harry slides his hand from the inseam of his trousers to the front. Heungmin is panting, and his bangs, wet from an earlier shower, look like they’re slick with sweat. Harry thinks it must be a different temperature wherever Sonny is.

Harry is careful as his fingers push the buttons undone. He can feel Heungmin shaking under his hands when he pulls his trousers down, so he slips a palm under his shirt, smoothing against the soft skin of his chest to ground him. A whimper sputters from Heungmin’s lips in response. Harry smiles at the sound and the bashful giggle that follows it. 

When he feels Harry’s fingers under the waistband of his boxers, Heungmin buries his head into the crook of his elbow to avoid catching Harry’s gaze. The fabric clings to his thighs as Harry pulls them over, and he groans at the sight of Sonny’s muscle flexing beneath it. Harry falls onto his elbows and lets his lips graze Heungmin’s skin as he mumbles out, “You’re  _ wonderful _ .”

Heungmin swallows as he stares up at the chantilly lace paint on the ceiling. Every time he cheats a glance at Harry, his eyes sting with how desperately he wants to kiss him. 

His worries are interrupted by Harry’s tongue pressing against his skin. Heungmin’s eyelids flutter as he feels the heat of Harry’s mouth sucking a bruise into the flesh of his thigh. He’s so consumed by the sensation that he barely notices that he’s reaching for himself until Harry catches his hand. 

Harry uses it to pull himself up over Heungmin, leaning over him so that he has to look up to meet Harry’s gaze. Harry releases his wrist, and it falls limply beside Heungmin’s head. 

Heungmin suddenly feels small, lying here half-naked while Harry hasn’t even shed his shoes. He lifts his head to stare at the end of the mattress, about to ask H to pull his trainers off, when Harry cups the back of his head and kisses him. 

Heungmin forgets how to breathe through his nose, but he thinks dying like this, with Harry Kane devouring him, wouldn’t be the worst way to go.

When Harry licks between his lips, Heungmin lets him slip his tongue into his mouth. A chuckle rumbles in the back of his throat and it makes Heungmin keen, rolling his hips up beneath him. 

Harry takes that opportunity to _finally_ close his hand around Heungmin, delivering on that promised warmth unique only to his touch. Harry’s wrist is quick, and Heungmin feels _weak_ , and the way Harry presses his lips to the column of Heungmin’s throat to say, “You’ve done _so_ good,” is enough to burst the thin bubble of restraint that keeps Heungmin from feeling.

He melts into Harry’s hand like ice under a flame.

✧

Heungmin doesn’t start getting the _bad_ ideas until he’s at one of his favorite dining places in New Malden. It’s probably the comfort of good tteokbokki luring him into a false sense of security, but he lets his fantasies have a go at the mic for a little while. Harry just WhatsApp-ed him asking if he has any plans, and Heungmin has to distract himself from what happens once the checkmarks next to his reply turn blue. 

Despite the mountain of uncertainty he faces, Heungmin is at least certain of what he wants. And for the first time in almost ten years, he’s seriously considering what it would be like to have it. He’s always known, logistically, that he should be okay if he’s careful. He’s heard rumors that there are tons of celebrities like him back home who are just good at being discreet. 

His friend in the acting business, Park Seojoon, confirmed this to Heungmin when they had last met up in Seoul. Heungmin, disarmed by a few bottles of soju and endless plates of night-snacks, had started rambling about the Premier League’s rainbow equality campaigns, then the lack of similar efforts in South Korea, and finished by spitting out some vague question about “what it would be like in the public eye.” To his relief, Seojoon knew what he meant without him having to say it. 

The actor just shrugged and said, “It seems nonexistent in Korea, because we don’t hear about it, but I’ve got many friends who… Their _agents_ know, or their producers, and us - their close friends. They just keep it private from the public. As long as the fans stick around and the money comes in, their management usually doesn’t care too much.” 

Heungmin’s head started spinning. Being an idol or a famous actor was _very_ different than being a national representative at the level he was, at the Asian Games or The Olympics, but just to _know_ that it was possible for some of them... 

“Hey, _Heungminie_.” Seojoon kicked Heungmin under the table to snap him out of his day dreams - that’s the kind of guy he is, no qualms about damaging a professional footballer’s calves for the sake of knocking sense into them. “They have full lives too. Work always, _always_ comes first, you know that. But being happy, _love_ , is important too. More important than we think.” 

Heungmin had just raised an eyebrow, given him a single look to ask. Seojoon nodded back. _Yes, they hide it, but they have love, too._ Heungmin felt the bile churning in his stomach. It was a lot to process.

Now, Heungmin is much too brave. This feels like his _life_ in culmination. To be perfectly honest, he’d love to blame his father for it, even though he knows that wouldn’t be fair. It’s just that it was his _dad_ who taught him from the beginning to love only football, football, _football_ , and now, the pitch is the only place where Heungmin can truly bare his heart. It’s the only place on Earth where he knows that bloodied, beaten, and maddened, he’ll always be welcomed home. And it’s because of this that Heungmin starts to fall before he can realize it. It’s how he ends up finding someone who can make him forget that he’s playing the game he loves most, for the very briefest of moments. 

It’s like that with H. 

When Harry’s touch finds his boot, some fans call it an act of God. When their eyes meet and silent words pass between them, Heungmin thinks of it as faith. But when he leaps into Harry’s arms after a goal, thighs wrapping around Harry’s waist like it’s _muscle memory_ , and Harry traces the outline of his body, like his hands were responsible for drawing it into existence - it feels like a different kind of worship, entirely.

A sip of water from his glass sucks Heungmin out of the rabbit hole. He glances back up at the restaurant’s walls, finally acknowledging the mosaic of his pictures plastered across them. He sees _his_ kit mounted in a glass box beside snapshots of Park Jisung from his Man United days. He remembers the devoted fans who fly almost ten thousand kilometers across the globe to watch him wear that cockerel in a stadium. He thinks about how microscopic he feels when he’s the only Asian player in both teams’ starting lineups, then about the pride that comes from seeing little kids smiling in their Son prints because someone who looks like them can do something like _that_. 

When Heungmin closes his eyes, he can still see the billowing fabric of a South Korean flag wildly waving in the stands after his goals for them; he can almost feel the red, blue, white, and black sliding between his fingertips. He’s had it draped over his shoulders countless times, the four black trigrams burning into the quadrants of his back. _Fire, Water, Heaven, and Earth_ , all on a cloth tied around his neck; the captain’s armband fit snug around his arm. Like Atlas, Heungmin is burdened with carrying the weight of his world.

He decides to hold out a little longer.

✧

Heungmin finally learning how to tune into the little things is a complete disaster for his sanity.

People think that it would be relieving to have your friends _already know_ when it comes to these matters, but it’s Heungmin’s worst nightmare. If he wanted the other boys to know about him, he would have told them. He’s absolutely terrified that he already has without realizing it. After all, had he not been as oblivious with Chanyoung, he would have seen all the signs. Who’s to say his teammates didn’t?

The changing room is an anxiety-inducing environment for most people who share Heungmin’s experience, but the emotional turmoil he has to deal with _on top of_ worrying about his match performance is simply inhumane. Luckily, a childhood of training under his father also taught him loads about stress. And repression.

Another fact in his favor is their game against Crystal Palace, which has the dressing room in easy spirits. Hugo is content with the clean sheet, and Christian is no doubt pleased with an assist and one in the net of his own. It’s an especially merciful match because it leaves Heungmin to angst over just one of his team-related troubles, rather than two. 

That’s what he thinks while he undresses in stunning naivety, toeing off his boots and rolling off his socks without a worry because Harry hasn’t talked to him even _once_ since they went through the tunnel. 

He’s just barely pulled his undershirt off when he feels a hand on the small of his bare back. _Fucking great,_ Heungmin thinks, because he isn’t keen on freezing up in his half-dressed state, but he also isn’t thrilled about interacting with whoever he’ll see once he tugs it over his head. At least, not here, for all the other boys to watch and dissect without the distraction of a flying football. He ultimately decides that doing nothing would raise more eyebrows, so he begrudgingly pulls it off. 

It’s Harry, because _of course, it’s Harry_. He’s grinning, despite the frustration of his own performance today - maybe because if Sonny is well off, then he is too. He lets his eyes fall from Heungmin’s face to his chest, studying his body as if it might have changed since he last saw it, and Heungmin feels pure envy. Harry can look at him _like that,_ in the middle of the damn changing room, because _he’s_ the golden boy. No one bats an eye. Heungmin has to cage his head in his cubby because at least his back reddens less than his cheeks when his skin flushes.

“Done good, Sonny,” is all he says, and then he has his hand on the back of Heungmin’s neck, and all Heungmin feels is the last time Harry ran his palms across his bare skin. He swallows so loudly he thinks Ben hears it in the corner, then replies, “Thanks, H.”

Heungmin doesn’t know if Harry forgets himself or if he’s a sadist when he smooths his fingers into Heungmin’s hair and gives it a _too_ \- _friendly tug._ An image of himself on his knees in front of Harry burns the inside of his eyelids. He whimpers quietly, then has an internal meltdown because _what the fuck is wrong with you, compose yourself_ , and coughs at nonexistent dust. Heungmin turns his head only to glare at Harry.

Harry goes wide-eyed, like he didn’t expect the blast of hostility, and steps back. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Heungmin sighs. He knows it’s not Harry’s fault. Well, _that_ was his fault, but it’s not his fault that everything else is the way it is. He just shakes his head and shrugs to show Harry that it’s been put out of his mind.

Harry takes that as permission to stay, so he leans against the wooden divider and watches while Sonny finishes up changing, ulterior motives hidden under the false pretense of chitchat about their next match. Harry is looking at him like he _loves_ him and Heungmin hates the way that makes him feel. 

“I’ll see you around yours, then?” Harry confirms because while Heungmin was busy navigating a battle of discretion in their changing room, he accidentally made plans to see Harry on a night off.

“Yeah,” Heungmin agrees, then suddenly wishes he could do _something_ more to send Harry off. “I’ll see you,” he says, reaching out to catch Harry’s hand and squeeze it for just a second before letting him go. 

It’s far from enough, but it will have to do for now.

✧

Harry is scuffing his shoes against the doormat when Heungmin answers him. “Hi,” he greets with a lazy wave. Heungmin scans him from bottom-to-top, from his black trousers, to his tan jumper, to his dark blonde hair smoothed back with gel. Heungmin thinks of what it looks like when it’s soft and falling over his forehead, when Harry is exhausted and smiling down at him. 

He giggles and steps aside so Harry can come in. 

“It’s big,” Harry notes absentmindedly while he looks around and pulls his trainers off.

“It’s the same as last time,” Sonny counters in amusement, leading Harry into the living room. He’s stepping a little too quick, aiming to be just out of reach.

Harry catches him by the shoulder and gently yanks him backwards. “It was crowded with Spurs last time. It’s much bigger when it’s just us two.” His breath fans over the back of Heungmin’s neck. Heungmin can feel the question tickling at his skin. _It_ is _just us, right?_

Heungmin nods an affirmative. “It’s quiet when both my parents are out.”

“You poor thing, left all alone,” Harry jokes as they settle onto the sectional, him on the center cushion, and Heungmin one over. His fingers itch at his thigh. He wishes he could just pull Sonny into his lap.

“I’m not alone,” Heungmin denies. 

Harry takes a glance at the flat screen TV across from them. He grins at the reflection of Heungmin in the black mirror, pouting in a way that’s reserved only for him. “No?”

“No,” Heungmin insists. “There’s still Smiley.”

“Smiley?” Harry racks his brain for this supposed family member he’s forgotten. Did Sonny get a pet since the last time he came over?

“Remember?” Heungmin almost whines out. “Smiley, the monkey.”

_Oh_. Harry tries to contain a chuckle. _Smiley_ is the ungodly-large monkey doll that Sonny sleeps with. It had been a gift from a fan apparently, a gift Sonny enjoys so much that he’s shown it off on TV programs more than once. Harry’s not too sure if Smiley likes _him_ ; the toy didn’t exactly seem happy with him when they last met a few weeks ago. Harry had replaced Smiley in Sonny’s bed and left him lying on the floor, powerlessly watching on as his beloved roommate was debauched.

Sonny seems to remember too, because he’s blushing when Harry turns back to him. He suddenly shoots up, asking, “Do you want something to drink?”

“Stay here,” Harry answers. It’s commanding on purpose, and desperate on accident.

“Okay,” Heungmin agrees quietly. He falls back onto the sofa, closer this time.

“Actually, I brought you something,” Harry remembers while fishing into his coat pockets. He produces two mini Cadbury Creme Eggs and holds them out for Heungmin.

Heungmin sparks up at that, leaning closer so that he can receive them in his hands. “For me?”

Harry nods, taking the opportunity to subtly bring his arm around Heungmin’s shoulders. 

He nestles against Harry in response while unwrapping the candy foil and bites into one. Heungmin smiles to himself and Harry is grateful that he catches it. 

“They’re leftovers from the girls’ Easter haul. I figured they wouldn’t miss a couple. And I know you like them,” Harry teases, poking at Heungmin’s cheek.

Last year, the first team stopped by to spend time with the Spurs youth academy as a surprise after the Easter weekend. Harry had been fiddling around with some of the Under-13s when he noticed one of the Under-9 kids waddling up to Sonny. She had popped the sweet into his hands and eagerly watched on as he hesitantly nibbled on it. Her parents were visibly embarrassed, but Sonny took it like a champ, profusely thanking the family and ruffling the young player’s hair. He had worn the most unshakable smile in that moment. Maybe it had less to do with the actual candy than it did the girl’s gesture, but Harry would do anything for Sonny to keep that smile on forever. If that means sneaking a couple of eggs out from the kids’ Easter baskets, so be it.

The sight of Sonny beaming down at her is etched into Harry’s memory. He can’t help its residence in both his conscious and subconscious, which leads him to ask, “Do you want kids?” without thinking.

Heungmin shrugs, hiding his face in Harry’s chest. “It’s complicated,” he mumbles against him.

Harry doesn’t know why he even brought it up. _Of course_ Sonny wants kids. He’s seen him on the pitch, twirling all of his honorary nieces and nephews in the air, their combined laughter radiating pure bliss. Harry’s even seen clips online of Heungmin playing with his real niece and nephew. Sonny’s the perfect picture of a family man. He would make the most caring, kind, and thoughtful father, but they both know that isn’t the issue. 

“I’d have to get married first,” is how Heungmin explains it. He hopes Harry takes it to mean the obstacle of his _marriage ban_ \- the one every soul in England is familiar with. For others, it might be a nightmare, but for Heungmin, it had been the easiest concession of his life. A public declaration to hold off on a wife until his career is finished, with the supposed intent of focusing solely on football. It was one compromise that muted most of the tensions between him and his father, convincing his dad that he would concentrate more on football and less on… well, the kind of person he might be _outside_ of football. It also helped his entire family save face, and for that, he knows his mother is silently grateful.

Unbeknownst to Heungmin, Harry _doesn’t_ take it that way. Harry takes it as a reminder that Sonny _can’t_ get married - at least not in South Korea. He can’t have kids there either, for that matter, and Harry knows that wouldn’t be the case if Sonny just _stayed_ in England. He tries not to wonder if that’s part of the reason he would be so heartbroken to see Sonny go from the EPL. It’s selfish and Harry knows it. He wants Sonny to stay with Spurs just so that he can keep feeding him shots and Sonny in celebration can keep slamming against his chest so hard he thinks he might bruise. He wants Sonny to stay in England just so that he can have the kids he’s always wanted - so that he can hold his little one in his arms and break out into that blinding smile - and so that Harry can be there to see it. 

God, Sonny deserves that. He deserves to see his kid smiling up at him, to hug them tight, and to love them unconditionally despite the traumas of his own childhood. Sonny _needs_ to get to have that, with or without Harry.

For a split second, Harry hates himself for even thinking _with_ him is an option. He knows that Sonny will move on. After his days of football are long gone, he’ll find a civvie bloke and finally settle down. Harry envisions the blurry silhouette of another man, and a child swinging between his and Sonny’s hands. He wonders who it might be. He imagines that Sonny always wanted to share married life with someone from back home - someone who would understand the cultural nuances that Sonny craves to be part of his life again. And with the circumstances being Sonny most likely marrying outside of his country, probably someone with international capabilities. Intrusively, Harry thinks of Park Seojoon.

Harry had stumbled upon Seojoon’s existence accidentally, when the same handsome face started popping up on Sonny’s phone one too many times on the coach. Harry had teased Sonny about obsessing over a celebrity crush, and immediately found out that the actor Sonny was drooling over was actually his real-life _friend._ That’s when the blushing started to worry him. 

“Has Seojoon ever been here?” Harry asks suddenly, intending only to torture himself. He calms his breathing, casually running his fingers through Heungmin’s hair to dissuade any suspicion of the anxiety he feels inside.

Heungmin frowns, pulling away from Harry’s chest. “Why?”

“You said he’d been in town before. I just wondered.” Harry cracks a false grin. “A place this nice should be shared with guests, no?”

Heungmin chuckles at that. He doesn’t seem to pick up on Harry’s tension, and if he does, he aims to worsen it by lying down in Harry’s lap. He shuts his eyes and peacefully murmurs, “He has.”

Harry swallows. He looks down at his lap - at the man he loves, who just effectively confirmed that Harry isn’t the only one. To Harry, Sonny is within reach, and still always, _always_ so unattainable. “I see,” he replies.

✧

Hengmin had severely miscalculated the situation when he invited Seojoon over for dinner that once. 

He thought that his parents would be _pleased_ that he was mingling with someone successful, especially someone whose name they already knew. The slew of Korean idols and rappers he befriended impressed his older brother, but never his parents. Heungmin’s mother actually watched Seojoon’s dramas on occasion, and he was thrilled to give her the chance to meet him in person. 

Seojoon was the handsome, well-mannered house guest they so rarely had the chance to host. He came bearing tteokbokki and samgyupsal, which Heungmin’s mother fussed over the hassle of retrieving. Seojoon eased her worries by reassuring her that his assistant ran to a Korean mart in his stead. 

Inevitably, she _adored_ Seojoon. Heungmin had been right to expect that. She served him first, pinched his cheek like she had known him for years, and gushed about how good-looking he was. His mother watched Seojoon with a keen eye, and in doing so, saw a side of her own son that she hadn’t before. 

Heungmin flushed all over when Seojoon patted his head, praising Heungmin's parents for raising such a supportive _dongsaeng_. He smiled at his plate when she had asked, “Seojoonie, do you have a girlfriend?” and Seojoon politely answered, “ _No_ , I’m focusing on work at the moment.” Heungmin even got up from the table to refill Seojoon’s glass whenever he so much as coughed, and he paled when she teased him, saying, “You’ve never been this sweet to your older brother.” 

Luckily, Seojoon had this quality, like the social elegance of a figure skater, easily dancing past leading quips and helping Heungmin twirl out of glances that incriminated him. Heungmin hadn’t paid much attention, too fixated on Seojoon’s shine. He couldn’t waste even a second of their time together worrying about himself.

Heungmin walked him to the door after dinner. Seojoon would be boarding a flight at six the next morning, and they both knew it was goodbye for a long while. He puffed out his right cheek, tapping it with his finger, and Heungmin went red. “I’m not your girlfriend,” he scoffed back. 

Seojoon shrugged lazily, wearing a just-as-careless smile. “No, but you’re my Sonshine, remember? I need a kiss for energy.”

Heungmin had rolled his eyes and scanned the room for observers before leaning up to peck Seojoon’s cheek. “Happy?” he asked, and it melted into Seojoon’s shoulder when he wrapped Heungmin into a hug.

Heungmin buried his face into Seojoon’s muffler, breathing in the scent of his time in England, and tried to commit it to memory before it faded forever.

Seojoon slipped out into the darkness, and Heungmin’s house was devoid of warmth; it was like he had never been there at all.

His father came into his bedroom that night, when the lights were already out and Heungmin was only visible under the glow of his tablet screen. He stood in the doorway, light streaming in behind him, a shadow that clung desperately to the doorknob. “Heungmin,” he started. “You said you wouldn’t show your Eomma.”

His chest squeezed. Heungmin clicked his tablet off. 

“She already knows,” his father had reluctantly admitted. “We just don’t want to see it. That’s all we ask.”

_That’s not all you ask_ , Heungmin thought of arguing back. _Every night, you ask God to change my mind. You ask the world to show me a lovable heart in the body of a woman. You ask me to keep this part hidden deep, deep below the son you’re proud to call yours._

Heungmin even considered defending Seojoon. _I’m like that, but he isn’t_ , he might have said. His arguments compressed into a resigned breath, and all that came out was, “What did you see?”

His father only asked, “What was there to see?” and left Heungmin to lie alone in bed, wondering himself.

His parents met Seojoon that once and immediately discovered his effect on Heungmin. 

He’s beyond grateful that he never introduced them to Harry.

✧

When Heungmin opens his eyes and watches Harry chew at his lip above, he feels liberated with the gift of telepathy.

He’s never explained the extent of his relationship with the actor to Harry; although him and Seojoon aren’t any more defined, in feeling, in truth, or in name.

Harry remains dazed, a cloud of hypotheticals whose only tether to Earth is the hand fisted in Heungmin’s hair. It feels so good to look at Harry and _know_ what he’s thinking, but Heungmin hates to feel together if all they feel is pain.

“Kiss me,” he says, to lessen the sting, in an effort to throw his body over the fire and hope it extinguishes the flames.

Harry has to blink back into existence. It’s new, hearing Heungmin’s voice wrapped around those words. He waits as Heungmin sits up again and lays his cheek against the sofa back. Heungmin scratches a nail along the collar of Harry’s jumper, and Harry wants it dragging across his skin. “Please kiss me,” Heungmin whispers, wanting too much more.

Harry settles his hand over Heungmin’s shoulder, then his other on his waist. He could move him however he wishes, but he doesn’t need to. Heungmin will always come on his own. He climbs over Harry and lands on top of him, thighs falling on either side of his torso. Heungmin exhales heavily, like he wouldn’t care if Harry stole all the air he could ever breathe, and then he closes the gap.

The way that Heungmin’s lips move with his tells Harry that he’s the only one who’s tasted them. Heungmin can get under his skin like that; he can reset Harry’s brain to accept the truth they both like best. 

Harry has Heungmin in his lap, desperate to profess their affections to a world that will never have the privilege of hearing, and right now, he knows that Seojoon could only wish to be in his place.

✧

Since Heungmin doesn’t have much to do besides play football with the Spurs, he tries to sleep as much as possible when he’s in England. 

With the Champions League final only a few days out, he finds that his biological clock has him up earlier and earlier against his will. Despite the sun rising with him, it’s not a reasonable hour to start dressing when Heungmin gets up this morning, so he checks his phone instead. There are a couple of missed texts waiting for him when he does. He’s surprised that he didn’t wake up at the buzzing. An energized grin stretches across his lips when he reads the sender’s contact name.

Heungmin stretches his limbs out a little, then props his pillow up so that he can sit against it to read his texts. Seojoon’s messages always make his mood for the day. Well, until he gets to seeing Harry.

**Seojoon Hyung**

tvN just posted our dinner date clip on youtube, did you watch it yet?

12:23am

i still can’t believe you confessed to watching my dramas in your documentary lol now everyone who sees it will know you’re in love with me

12:25am

**Sonshine**

oh no i didn’t watch it

5:34am

oops you’re probably filming now

5:35am

and u wish ^-^ asshole

5:37am 

**Seojoon Hyung**

i’m on a shooting break now. i just want to give you good luck for the champions league final! 

5:43am

but i always have time for you ; )

5:45am 

**Sonshine**

oh, thank you hyung (>^_^)>

5:57am

was the clip any good?

5:59am

**Seojoon Hyung**

it was great, the editors used the baby squeak sound effect on you LOL 

6:00am

it suits you, you’re like a little kid 

6:01am

**Sonshine**

you were wishing me luck just then, now you’re insulting me ㅠㅠ

6:03am

don’t wound me before an important game

6:04am

**Seojoon Hyung**

heungminie, you literally said you can’t imagine eating GINGER

6:05am

it’s not an insult, i just mean that you act like a cute kid

6:06am

you didn’t really get to be a kid anyway, so it’s a good thing you have a childlike spirit

6:08am

Heungmin can’t argue with that. He laughs just thinking of the endless hours his tiny body had spent juggling a ball until he went cross-eyed. He knows he didn’t get to do some of the things that other kids did. He certainly didn’t get time to figure out the things that most teenagers do. Heungmin has been diffusing his adolescent self-exploration over the course of sixteen years. 

He shuffles over his sheets, taking a moment to contemplate. Could he get away with saying something so straightforward? Even to Seojoon, of all people?

**Sonshine**

actually there is something i have to tell you

6:11am

i really like you hyung

6:12am 

**Seojoon Hyung**

i know lol

6:13am

**Sonshine**

=_= well now i change my mind

6:14am

really, i’m grateful that you’re always taking care of me but

6:14am

seojoon hyung

6:15am

i’m

6:18am

As soon as Heungmin starts to type it out, he stops. Something cages around his heart; this was a _mistake_. He immediately clears the input box, thumbs hovering over the keys like they’re land mines. 

Seojoon is typing...

**Seojoon Hyung**

you don’t have to write it out

6:19am

honestly you probably shouldn’t. you might not have stalker fans but i do haha ^_^;;

6:20am

_Is he really not going to say anything else?_ Heungmin shuts off his phone in anguish and tosses it to the edge of the bed with the intention of never picking it up again. It takes all of two seconds for him to leap for it once it vibrates.

**Seojoon Hyung**

and i know, heungminie. it’s okay 

6:22am

i care for you very much. i’m happy with however you are

6:23am

Shaky but relieved, Heungmin finally exhales. Is _that_ what had been stuck in his chest this whole time? The monsters gnawing at his thoughts beg him to ask Seojoon, _How did you know? What did I do to give it away? Am I really that obvious? Does everyone know?_ But somehow, Seojoon still caring about him manages to make Heungmin feel safe. He lets it go for once.

**Seojoon Hyung**

good luck again! i’m always cheering u on \\(^_^)/ because you’re my sonshine

6:25am

ㅇ_ㅇ the staff is yelling at me, talk to you next time

6:28am

Heungmin drops his phone on the side table. Seojoon reacted well, much better than Heungmin had feared he would. Mere days out from the Champions League final, a demonstration of courage blinking across his smartphone screen, and leaning into a side of himself that he never thought would see the sunlight - he feels strong.

✧

Heungmin is no stranger to moments where he hasn’t got a fucking clue. This is one of a few that shakes him. It’s a loss so rattling he can’t wrap his brain around it.

He understands the confusion of a stray glance, an aimless whisper, a hand that ventures too far, but the field is supposed to be the one place where Heungmin has complete control over his body. It’s supposed to be the reassuring slide of turf under his boots, the familiar muted wind at his back, and a result that’s _earned_. It’s supposed to feel real. This doesn’t, in every way. 

The delirium of their loss is made worse by the crushing disappointment permeating their dressing room. Although it’s mostly silent, aside from huffs and sighs, Heungmin can tell that blame is being given. Whether it’s directed inwards or at each other, it feels bitter all the same. The temptation of victory poisons all else, even the sweetness of the successes preceding.

After the resolution of a final that begs to be forgotten, there isn’t the subtle promise of reward for a job well done, or the pleasurable buzz of victory to get carried away in. For that reason, Heungmin is beyond perplexed at the appearance of Harry in his hotel room that night.

“H,” Heungmin greets, opening and closing the door behind Harry. He doesn’t know where his mouth wants to go next, so he trails off. Harry sits on the bed, fingertips digging at his own thighs. He looks up, and he looks _expectant_.

Heungmin doesn’t know where it comes from, but he reminds Harry, quietly, “I can’t fix it.” He frowns at himself. He doesn’t know why he wants to make it better for _Harry_ when his heart is aching too.

Harry nods, lips pursed and eyes downcast. He pats the spot beside him.

Heungmin steps forward, black socks slipping against the knit of the carpet. He lands at Harry’s right, their knees bumping as he does.

Harry stares out the window, and Madrid has never looked so taunting. Every visible light blinking in the darkness looks like a set of cunning eyes delighting in their misery. He wants to feel good just to spite them; he wants to enjoy what’s left of this night.

He reaches for Heungmin’s hand.

Heungmin flinches when their palms scrape together. His skin pulls the wrong way, creasing deep into the lines, and it stings. He wiggles his fingers around Harry’s tense ones. Their hands nestle together nicely, and Harry exhales, nothing but breath dancing off his lips. It feels like there’s nothing left to say. 

“I’m sorry,” is what Heungmin settles on, to console them both. 

Harry responds by suddenly stretching his free hand across both their bodies, and Heungmin doesn’t have time to prevent their teeth from crashing. Harry is feverish in his kissing, and Heungmin imagines this is what it would be like to have someone screaming down your throat. Harry wants to push, and Heungmin doesn’t mind falling. Having him close is the last thing he expected tonight. 

It feels like the antidote to a nightmare. The jeers of Liverpool fans and blinding stadium lights fade from his consciousness once all he can think of is Harry’s touch. His bedding is in a heap on the floor, but even the chill of the hotel’s air conditioning against his bare skin can’t penetrate the fog of warmth Heungmin is floating in. 

When Harry pulls away, his shadow colors in the dips of Heungmin’s face. He swipes his thumb over the shine of Sonny’s swollen bottom lip and falls into the pool of honey that is two trusting eyes. Harry is overcome with the desire to drink it in until the well is dry.

He wants to feel strong again; he wants to feel worthy of something _good_. Even if he doesn’t say it, he presses it into Heungmin’s thighs and smothers it against his shoulders. After a baffling loss, Harry feels empowered by a newly discovered certainty. It’s in the way his every touch is answered with a kiss, every overdue compliment received by a moan. Sonny is spread out before him in every possible way and it feels like a _confession_.

Then Sonny says in a stolen breath, “It’s all about you,” and Harry wants to scold him for being so foolish. _It’s not all about me_ ; _it’s you, it’s you, it’s you_. Instead, he smiles for the first time that night.

Stable and true in this moment is the fact that Harry already knows. He knows what will happen in this bed tonight and what will happen in the morning. He knows how Sonny feels about him, and he knows that this might mean putting an entire team on the line. Most of all, Harry knows that Sonny is beautiful, and bright, and lying beneath him asking Harry to take whatever he wants. So he does.

It seems like a night meant for making mistakes.

✧

Even worse than the masochism of losing a trophy in the league final is yearning for a heart Heungmin has once felt beating inside him.

It’s his professional opinion that one-night stands are horrible, regardless of his personal participation in them. They become infinitely worse when they’re with someone you love, and they’re actually _good_.

If Harry had been a horrible lay, Heungmin could put it out of his mind. He’d write it off as the desperate, horny impulses of a touch-starved teenager who never got a chance to properly come out. Now, he’s running out of reasons to keep himself from falling.

Heungmin can’t believe his carelessness. That kind of synergy is meant to be saved for the pitch, not wasted atop the iron-pressed linens of an upscale hotel. The bus isn’t moving yet, and he already feels sick.

Never one to dabble with substances, Heungmin thinks he might finally understand withdrawal; every vein in his body feels like it’s empty of blood. There’s only one person who could change that and, all things considered, he’s out of the question. Heungmin may be oblivious, but he isn’t completely dense. He wasn’t surprised when he woke up in an empty bed, shivering under the AC draft without even a blanket tossed over him. He wasn’t surprised at the lack of Harry’s trace in his room. He wasn’t even surprised when Harry avoided him at breakfast, seemingly barricading himself within the protections of Winksy and Erik. 

He is, however, shocked when Harry pushes through the coach aisle and all but shoves Ben into the seat beside Heungmin rather than filling it himself. Heungmin lets out a strangled groan at the sudden thud of the defender against his body, then looks at him in stupor like he’s a rock of plutonium.

Ben just huffs in response, brushing himself off and patting Heungmin’s head in semi-apology. He glances up over his shoulder at Harry and his new seatmate Dele, then clicks his tongue. “Trouble in paradise?” Ben asks, not sounding as casual as Heungmin would prefer.

_Not last night_ , he wishes he could explain. _Not with Harry’s hands pressing into his shoulder, not with the scrape of his stubble against Heungmin’s neck, not when he knew what it would feel like to be Harry’s to love and be loved by._

“Something like that,” he says and then talks no more.

✧

International break is forgettable, meaning: Heungmin is constantly forgetting himself and his place. 

He gets to go _home_ to Korea, stay up late, and fill himself with every flavor he’s been craving during his English exile, but most of the nights spent off the pitch are hollow. Hours upon hours fall through Heungmin’s fingers. Part of him wishes he were spending them in London.

The national team plays two friendlies; one against Australia, and the other with their unofficial rival, Iran. Ui-jo puts one in the back of the net both times, which is only enough to draw against Iran.

Heungmin is just barely there on the field. He finds himself pushing forward to catch touches that never get to him. His teammates don’t completely neglect Heungmin, but even in friendlies, he notices their reluctance in comparison. They don’t trust him nearly as much as Harry does. 

Maybe because it’s not a normal kind of trust. 

He learns this, amongst other revelations, during the Iran match. At an inopportune moment after Young-Gwon’s own goal, Heungmin had hoped for a chance. He received the ball, charged forward, and swung to the outside left for a cross. When he looked to the collection point, it was empty. The Iranian defenders pressed up and Heungmin floundered, passing it deep to Sangho and tracking back in a daze. Heungmin was a ghost on the pitch when he realized. He had been looking for _Harry_. Always for Harry.

He’s not sure if the break brought his English counterpart to the same conclusion. Harry interrupted their radio silence only once to text:

**Harry**

I’m sorry Sonny

5:07pm

He doesn’t know what Harry would have said if given the chance to explain. Heungmin couldn’t bring himself to reply.

✧

He hadn’t exactly expected London to welcome him back with open arms, but he hoped that Harry would at least say something.

Heungmin feels untethered, wandering from their changing room, into the halls, and out through the gym with someone who feels like a stranger at his side. Harry keeps his head down and mouth closed as they filter out onto the training pitch, each relieved once they both disappear into the flock of athletes.

The coaches are already preparing for the upcoming International Champions Cup, and he tries not to show his delight at Harry being placed on his team for their first seven-a-side scrimmage of the day.

Heungmin is reassured by the stability of their chemistry on the green. It’s only a scrimmage, it’s only _training_ , but Harry still sets him up whenever he can. Right before the coaches shout for rotations, Harry finds an opportunity for Sonny and lobs it to him. The ball glides through his instep, through Benny’s legs, and through the two disk cones that make it a goal.

Harry entertains him with a handshake. Even through gloves, his fingers feel ice cold. Heungmin thinks of how Harry used to tease him about his celebrations with Dele - how he would make quiet, snide remarks about _their_ handshake while staring Heungmin down in the changing room. Harry had been awfully petulant about it, but ultimately consoled himself by telling Heungmin, “You touch me differently than the rest of them.” It’s only training, but Heungmin wants to show him that again. He wants to reach up, loop his arms around Harry’s neck, and make Harry feel his heartbeat against his chest. 

He can’t once Harry slips away, with an ease that defies the magnetic pull Heungmin feels between them. Just like on the pitch, chances have a time limit, and his window just closed. The coaches call for a switch, and all Heungmin gets to satisfy his hunger is a pat on the shoulder. Not a word accompanies it.

The rest of training doesn’t give them much time to talk. When it finally ends, Heungmin trails after Harry, hoping that if- _when_ he can get Harry alone, he’ll reveal today to be a facade. He’ll say it was only a magic trick where _Sonny’s_ Harry had been there the whole time, only invisible to the untrained eye.

If Heungmin is an unskilled observer, Harry is certainly his complement. He hasn’t even committed to tapping Harry on the shoulder when the English captain swivels around, almost colliding with Heungmin’s chest as he turns.

“Sonny,” he says, exasperation etched deep into his forehead. “What do you want?”

Heungmin stays glued to his spot by the doors, a statue bolted to the checkered tile that other players whisk past as they rush home. He can’t think of an answer. _You should know,_ is all he thinks. _Why don’t you know?_

Harry drops his voice and lifts his gaze, staring at what Heungmin thinks might be that one bit of hair that sticks up on the top of his head. Harry exhales, and it feels like he’s returning all of the air he borrowed from Heungmin. “I took advantage of you when you were hurting,” he decides to say.

Heungmin’s throat closes in a scoff. He holds his breath, as if that will control whether time goes on. After a moment, he counters. “You were hurting too.” They both know it’s true. He still remembers the tight grip of Harry’s fingers on his hips - the desperation of a man in mourning.

“That’s no excuse.”

“It’s better than yours,” Heungmin bites back. Harry’s shocked chuckle at that gives him hope. He doesn’t know why he lets that give him hope. “You don’t have to think too hard about it,” Heungmin whispers, just because Winksy passes within earshot. 

Harry drops his eyes and gives him a look. It’s the same one you give a stray puppy you know you can’t bring home. 

Heungmin’s tongue turns bitter against the roof of his mouth when he deciphers it. Harry doesn’t believe him - he doesn’t believe that Sonny is over him, or that he will _ever_ get over him. _That self-obsessed dickhead._ Heungmin resorts to lying to prove Harry wrong. “It really doesn’t matter,” he insists.

“Then let’s forget it?” Harry asks, hopeful for the outcome Heungmin dreads. He’s standing away, smoothing his hands against the back of his sweatpants and squaring his shoulders. His lines are rigid, the stark silhouette of a defense tower. What is he protecting himself from?

Reluctantly, Heungmin agrees. He can feel the flame dying, and he’s terrified that he might have just snuffed it out himself.

✧

He isn’t sure where Harry’s professionalism separates from his indifference. 

In many ways, they’ve reverted to how they were before all of it. The Harry Kane that barks at him on the training grounds now is not the same Harry that once let gratuitous praise pass between their lips. This Harry is Sonny’s attack partner, his second captain, his teammate, and nothing more. Just like how it was and should’ve been. 

In other ways, Harry being this cold is completely foreign to Heungmin, and he’s starting to believe that there might have never been a _before_ when it comes to them. Maybe they were always doomed to entangle. Or maybe they have always been like this.

Their first match of the cup is in Kallang, against Juve. Heungmin has conflicting emotions on playing Spurs games in his home continent. It comes with the undeniable truth that a considerable fraction of the stadium seats will be there to see _him_. He aches to do them right, and it hurts so much more to disappoint then, to see a wave of fallen faces surrounding him in real time. It’s a disappointment that surpasses club pride. It’s a reflection of themselves that he bears, and he knows that it’s precious.

He rushes himself this match, desperate to send a buzz through the stands. Within the first five minutes, Heungmin has lined up a chance. He thunders past the line of defense, and his effort slams against the left post before rolling out of bounds. He heaves out a promise that he’ll find another later.

He does, but not for himself. Troy puts it into his feet across the center line and runs down, chasing Sonny’s inside until he’s well within the penalty box. He shrugs the ball off to his right, and there Troy is to receive, sending it straight into the gloves of Buffon. Heungmin takes pause, waiting for an inconceivably slim moment, to watch Erik catch the rebound and nudge it easily into the net. He smiles when Troy jumps into Erik’s arms, already knowing that this was probably his sole contribution to the match. 

He’s proven right sooner than expected, when Poch pulls him out for Lucas about 15 minutes later. The word _substitute_ has never wrapped around Heungmin's throat in this way, it’s never squeezed the breath out from his chest the way it does when he realizes just how completely Lucas has replaced him on the pitch. Lucas lands one of his own in the goal after 20 minutes, then gets an assist to Harry in overtime. 

Harry’s last-minute effort is a _screamer_ , coasting over half the pitch before tumbling through Szczęsny’s hands and exploding into the net. The stands rouse in ecstasy, but all Heungmin hears is the trainers mumbling about how _Harry didn’t even look_ , how _he_ _didn’t even have to_. Harry’s instinct is something Heungmin envies in real life; Harry has a talent for perception that makes his stomach burn with contempt whenever it gives him the upper hand in this _mess_ between the two of them. But seeing it here, while Heungmin sits on the sidelines and bears witness to that superpower arching over the green of the Singapore National Stadium, he wants Harry to soak in it forever.

Harry in celebration is beautiful and untouchable, until George, Jack, Harvey, Moussa, and Lucas swarm him, wrapping him with their bodies and making Harry the glowing center of their heart. Heungmin can see Harry through their bobbing heads, instantly finding him and making out the shine of his skin under the light. A smile only slightly stretches across Harry’s lips because _it’s just what had to be done._ The circle around him draws tighter and tighter, and Heungmin is dizzy with how much he wants to be sucked into that orbit. He thinks it would be nice, to be certain that a gravitational pull kept him and Harry together rather than the frail threads of human attraction.

Heungmin can’t be disappointed with a match won, even less so when it has Harry gliding off the pitch in euphoria. The result has him sated, but it’s the pleasure of watching Harry succeed that soothes him. Heungmin can be greedy, but he doesn’t ask for anything more today. That’s why it surprises him when Harry finds him right outside the changing room, silently squeezing his left shoulder so hard that his thumb presses into the bone. Harry is swept away by the traveling dogpile not a second later, but Heungmin can still feel the dull ache of his muscle wilting under Harry’s fingers. The skin there burns in the showers, and there’s a red splotch staining it while he towels off. 

Somehow, Harry finds him through the cloud of testosterone, immediately locking into Heungmin’s figure the same way he had done earlier. His gaze slips through a window between Kyle and Hugo’s bodies, then wipes across Heungmin’s chest. His stare is trained on that dip beside Heungmin’s collarbone, a spot he’s kissed and bit even harder. His eyes flit up to meet Heungmin’s, then slide away just as quickly. Heungmin looks down at his shoulder, at the spot Harry had studied. 

The mark is still there, burned into his flesh. And he thinks maybe Harry is too. 

✧

Heungmin doesn’t have to look for him anymore. As the Premier League season rolls into full play, Harry is often running from corner to corner of the grounds, constantly crossing his path. It’s like gathering pebbles, watching as Harry folds himself back into Heungmin’s life.

It starts with obvious hesitation. Harry watches Heungmin sitting for breakfast alone, and only approaches his table once he has Winksy, or Erik, or Benny in tow. He offers to fetch drinks for the whole group, capitalizing on the chance to hand one to Sonny. 

Sometimes, he offers to hang up Heungmin’s clothes when he’s rushing into the changing room late, lamenting how little time he has to check in with the physio. Harry lies that he’s trying to convince the team to straighten out the mess, but Sonny gives him a sudden laugh and a _thanks_ that says he doesn’t buy it.

This week, Heungmin has been clenching his fist on-and-off, so tightly that the tendon strains against his skin. He’s frowning down at it while they’re being briefed for today’s fixture, and Harry can’t help what he does next. He puts himself shoulder to shoulder with Sonny and takes his wrist in his hand. Sonny turns to him, lips parting in a gasp, but isn’t willing to face the scolding the trainers will give him for talking out of turn. He stays quiet and doesn’t peel Harry away.

Harry’s thumb finds that dip on the inside of his wrist and presses deep. Heungmin’s eyelids flutter as he sighs out, letting his forearm go limp between Harry’s fingers. A pretty smile fills his face and it makes Harry consider forgiving himself. 

Sonny slips his wrist down through Harry’s grasp, so that Harry is squeezing his palm instead. He wraps his fist around Harry’s thumb, then scrapes a nail along the side of it. “Thank you,” he mouths. 

Harry is high on that look of gratitude during their warm-up, and it sends him gentle memories of other times Sonny’s been pleased with him. He thinks of the moments when he’s made Sonny feel so good that he’s crying out wet happiness, the moments that he had forgotten in favor of his paranoid imagination. Harry had worried so much over all the pain he made for Sonny that he forgot that he knew how to make it go away too. 

_Smiley_ , sweets, hugs, and praise - infinite, simple ways in which Harry could please Heungmin forever. 

His spirits are further lifted by the match result. They blow Crystal Palace out of the water, four-nil with Sonny responsible for two. The first is a follow-through from Toby, a ten-minute opening that blasts into the net and earns cheers from the crowd. Heungmin rushes to the corner for a celebration, braces for Erik on his back, and turns around to see Harry, and those blasphemous neon boots, dashing toward him. 

Heungmin feels the scratchy slide of Harry’s cheek against his own and gets a good feeling about the match. Harry tries to set him up not too long after, slipping him an easy chance through the defense, but it dies in Guaita’s hands. 

At least Sonny nearly gets an assist when he puts a ball through to Serge, whose goal bounces against a Crystal Palace defender first. Harry watches as the ball slips into the back of the net, and feels like an outsider to the linkup, even if it is an own goal. Sonny’s second score comes from Serge too - a left-footed volley that slings against the bottom post. Luckily, Harry doesn’t go neglected for too long, because Sonny gets him a ball just before half time and he gives it away to Erik, who finishes it. The game is practically over by now, and Harry wonders if he can try for a fifth before he gets pulled off. Sonny is still fighting for his own hat trick, but neither of them gets on the scoresheet in the second half.

Harry’s already been subbed out when the whistle calls time. He goes onto the pitch to tell the other players good game, but keeps an eye on Sonny - exhausted, satisfied, _radiant_ Sonny. He doesn’t go for it until they’re in the changing rooms, right when Serge has become the center of a chant and the team lets him have his turn with Sonny. 

“Good work,” he mutters while wrecking Sonny’s hair with his fingers. He’s grinning, and Heungmin thinks of their Crystal Palace match last season. The clean sheet, the smile of satisfaction Harry flaunts despite his own lackluster performance, his ability to feel glee for Sonny’s sake - it all seems the same. Sonny giggles, high-pitched and silly, and jams his own hand up into the tangled strands with Harry. He laces their fingers together and coaxes Harry out of his hair.

Heungmin stays aware of the others, but brushes his lips against Harry’s knuckles long enough for Harry to realize that it’s happened. Whatever tension has been pinching between them unwinds, and Heungmin swears he can see the knots in Harry’s shoulders unraveling.

“What are you doing tonight?” Harry whispers when Sonny has detached from him.

Heungmin shrugs, grazing Harry’s ankle with the side of his foot. He looks up at him, wide-eyed and reveling in the reaction it draws. “Whatever you want me to,” he promises.

Harry coughs, trying not to go red when Sonny laughs at his reaction. “Let’s go somewhere then,” he says before running away, and Heungmin can only guess what he means.

✧

Harry’s directions have Heungmin suspecting that their secret rendezvous might in fact be a bank heist. Harry tells him to be ready around half past midnight, and very clearly instructs him to wear all black. He says it’s a precaution, but Heungmin quickly texts back:

**Sonny**

Are you sure you don’t just want to see me in the sweater again?

8:50pm

**Harry**

That’s not it

8:55pm

But now that you’ve mentioned it, please wear that sweater 

8:55pm

That eases Heungmin’s nerves, and he has no trouble staying busy until Harry comes around. He showers again, cheeks going red hot when he realizes why he feels the need to, then dresses up in a pair of black cotton shorts and the knit turtleneck sweater Harry is unhealthily obsessed with. Heungmin pulls open the drawer where he keeps his hair products and contemplates putting some in, but figures it might not last long and decides against it. By the time he’s done getting ready, their meeting is still two hours away. He puts on _The Incredibles 2,_ keeping it at an extremely low volume to protect his parents’ delicate slumber, and sinks into the sofa to watch it. 

He wakes up from a state of bleariness at 12:22 and, true to his word, Harry lets him know that he’s arrived less than five minutes later. Heungmin finds the Range Rover out front, conspicuously aligned in the middle of the street. He jogs up to the passenger side, fingers already curling around the door handle, when Harry waves him toward the back.

Heungmin rolls his eyes and obliges, popping himself into the backseat. The door thuds behind him, and Harry looks up from the steering wheel to glance Heungmin in the rearview mirror. “Am I on time out?” he asks cheekily, as Harry lifts his foot off the brake and lets the car roll forward.

“It won’t be long,” Harry reassures, reaching back with his free hand and rubbing Heungmin’s calf.

If not for the fact that Harry keeps it there, Heungmin probably would have already started getting drowsy. Instead, he’s flexing under Harry’s hand, staring out the window with a fiery determination _not_ to notice how those fingers are working into his muscle.

They drive for about 10 minutes before Harry turns into a dimly lit residential road, where the streetlamps are obstructed by the heavy canopy of trees and the houses lining it all have their lights shut off.

The car hiccups to a stop in a patch of intense darkness, their surroundings turning black as Harry kills the engine, and the headlamps fade out.

Heungmin doesn’t expect it when Harry throws the driver door open and properly _exits_ the vehicle. He suffers a second wave of shock when the door opposite him swings out on its hinge, and Harry climbs inside.

Before Heungmin can even ask what he’s doing, Harry chuckles and fondly remarks, “Of course you’re wearing shorts.”

He pouts at that, then remembers that Harry probably can’t see in the shadows. Heungmin thinks a whine would communicate the same sentiment, so he lets a breathy one slide up his throat. It seems to do the trick because Harry groans out, “Get in my lap,” like he’ll maybe die if Sonny declines.

Heungmin’s eyes are still adjusting, but he can see the blurred outline of Harry’s body seated across from him. He curls his fingers around the seat backing and pushes himself forward, stumbling on his knees until he bumps against Harry’s leg. Harry grips his left thigh to pull it over his lap, and Heungmin has to press closer to his chest once he’s straddling him because the ceiling is only so high. Harry smooths his palms up Sonny’s back, traveling higher and higher atop the sweater, until his fingers are tugging at the collar. He pulls the front down, between his index finger and his thumb, then noses against the skin under Sonny’s jaw.

“Missed you,” Harry whispers, rough and nearly incoherent. Heungmin feels heat gather in his chest. 

He swallows hard, and he knows it must be deafening to Harry’s ears. “Yeah?” Heungmin pushes. “How much?”

Harry chuckles, rocking his hips up. “Can’t you feel it?” His dick is straining against the fabric of his joggers, pressing into the thin cotton of Heungmin’s shorts. Of course, he can fucking feel it.

He responds by grinding down against Harry, eyes rolling back because the sensation of nostalgia pummels him into delirium. He keens when Harry reaches into the front of his shorts, but it ends as soon as Harry can fold Sonny’s cock up under his waistband. 

“You were going to poke a hole in my stomach,” he explains to shoo away Sonny’s look of displeasure. Harry grins. “And now I know you haven’t got boxers on.”

Heungmin kisses the words back into his mouth, smothering them between the lips they tumbled from. Harry reaches up to gently close his hand around Sonny’s throat, over the turtleneck collar, and Heungmin parts his lips. Harry presses his tongue against Heungmin’s and it’s awfully messy because he’s sort of laughing at how Sonny falls apart under his touch at the same time. 

He can tell when Sonny’s about to forgo breathing, so he grabs a fistful of Heungmin’s hair and pulls his head back. Heungmin blinks, then notices that his eyes have almost fully adjusted to his surroundings. He peers through the window on instinct, on the lookout for potential EPL fans roaming the neighborhood past midnight. All he can see is autumn leaves rolling across the pavement. Everything is quiet, and Harry is clutched between his thighs. It feels perfect. So perfect that Heungmin has to half-joke, “Do you bring all your flings here?”

Harry smirks lazily, cupping Sonny’s face in his hand. “Just you,” he teases back. 

Heungmin’s eyes blow wide in an involuntary display of shock. He goes silent.

“Wait, Sonny.” Harry pulls his hand away, letting it fall to the seat at his side. His eyes narrow, and they search deep within Heungmin’s. “Is that… is that what you think this is?”

Heungmin switches to fear instantaneously, mind clouding with what implications he’s vastly misunderstood.

Then Harry establishes an entirely new universe, transporting Heungmin to a dimension he hasn’t even allowed himself to dream of. “You’re not just a fling,” he tells Sonny. “I _like_ you.”

Heungmin’s breath hitches. He drops his head. “You do?” he asks, shoulders trembling.

Harry chuckles uneasily. “Sonny, we’ve _shagged_ more than once,” he emphasizes to lighten the mood, but Heungmin remains quiet. He’s still worrying that plush, _very_ kissable bottom lip beneath his teeth. He’s still staring at Harry’s chest instead of his eyes.

Harry gently lifts Heungmin’s chin, guiding him to meet his gaze. His eyes are glossy yet guarded, his cheeks wet. Harry watches as an obviously unwanted tear slips down the side of Heungmin’s nose, and his heart _breaks_. 

Sonny didn’t know. And he should have realized it.

Heungmin may feel like a mind-reader on the pitch, but there are some things that he, like anyone else, needs to properly _hear._ Harry hadn’t so much as told him.

“I like you,” he repeats, intending to destroy any chance of Heungmin misinterpreting its meaning. Harry cups Sonny’s jaw between both of his palms, steadying his head in his hands. “I like you so much that the thought of you leaving England gives me night terrors. I like you so much that I lie awake, like a teenager, envying whoever will get to bring children into your life. I like you so much that I think I am almost certainly in _love_ with you, and I can’t in good conscience go on without saying it, even if you decide you don’t want me in the end.”

Heungmin buries his hand under Harry’s fleece jumper, palm caressing the skin of his torso. “I want you,” he whispers, hesitant to reveal it but sure of its truth. “And I think I might love you too.”

“You do?” Harry asks, wiping the wells beneath Sonny’s eyes with his thumbs until they’re dry.

Heungmin giggles, and it’s soft, and cathartic, and special. “You copied me.”

Harry scoffs in disbelief, telling Sonny, “You’re _ridiculous_ ,” then immediately demands him to pull off his turtleneck.

“I don’t get why you always make me put it on if I don’t even get to wear it in the end,” Heungmin complains with a grin.

“I like seeing you covered up and then watching you take it all off for me. It’s sexy.”

“It’s _sexy_ ,” Heungmin deadpans back. Strange man, Harry Kane.

“Yeah. It’s sexy, like you,” Harry insists before turning to the side and nudging Heungmin onto his back, laying him out across the seat cushions. It’s awkward finding a place to land his knees - _Fuck’s sake_ , Harry is too tall and too old for this - but once he settles between Heungmin’s thighs, Harry continues muttering compliments against his shoulder. “Sexy, beautiful, _needy_ , and amazingly capable Sonny.”

Heungmin laughs and pushes him off for a moment, making Harry shift his weight onto the foot wedged under the front seat, then uses the limited extra space to tug his shorts down his legs. He tosses them under the seat cushion and hopes he can find them later.

Harry bites his lip, then unties the drawstring of his joggers and fumbles for something in the seat pocket. It's a travel-sized bottle of lube because Harry is a jackass. He pushes his joggers and his briefs down to his thighs, then tosses the bottle to Heungmin, who catches it with ease. “ _Eager_ too, I see.”

“Fucking shut up,” Heungmin warns, then helps Harry scramble back into a semi-comfortable place above him.

Harry stares down at his body in awe, partially because Heungmin is constantly mesmeric when nude, but mostly because, “Aren’t you _cold_?”

Heungmin shrugs and nods with a smile. “But you can make me warm.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so happy this is finished! It's basically been my full-time job for the past 2.5 fucking weeks 
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated!  
> Yell at me about kaneson @ heungminie.tumblr.com
> 
> Also, writing Sonny here vividly activated my memories of bonding with my homophobic dad over football as a kid. The difference is that my dad was in the amateur leagues and I was a mediocre-at-best winger...


End file.
